


Right to Remain Silent

by Ravvi



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Aftercare, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Degradation, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Other, Police officers, Self-Isolation, Sexual Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, grillby_undertale, multiple penetrations, referenced repeated abuse, sans x multiple humans, sans_undertale, sansby - Freeform, self deprecation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 04:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13896477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravvi/pseuds/Ravvi
Summary: Request for Stoffeles for the Atlantatale drawing!  This was inspired bythis artist'sstreet-tale Sans, which frequently feature a 1930's ish style Sans getting molested by police officers.  In particular, this fic was inspired bythis picture, with Sans ineptly trying to seduce Grillby.Mind the tags and be extra careful for gang rape, alcohol abuse, and degradation warnings.  Stay safe  ^_^Links in case A03 eats them:https://thetrashiestrump.tumblr.com/tagged/trashiestrump+arthttps://thetrashiestrump.tumblr.com/image/170609417243





	Right to Remain Silent

“Mm-mn-nn-nngh, ha-AAHH-“

“Goddamn, he really is a moaner,” one of the cops smirked.  “Almost kinda annoying, isn’t it?”

Sans crammed a fist into his mouth to muffle the sounds, legs trembling with exhaustion as a much larger human continued to vigorously fuck him from behind.  He was on all fours, knees grating harshly against the asphalt with every thrust, and hands cuffed in front of him.  His pants and boxers were pushed down around his ankles, leaving him fettered and exposed in front of a group of five or six cops.  They’d been taking turns.

“He drools too,” another cop leered, leaning against the wall of the alley.  “One of these times we oughta bring a big’ol plug to stop him up.”

“A fucking plug?  What, you too prissy to use your dick?” someone else snickered.

“In that mouth?”  the first cop scoffed. “Probably feels like getting blown by a cheese grater with all those teeth.”

“Not if you know what’s up,” the second cop said smugly, dropping down in front of Sans and rudely tugging his hands away from his mouth.  “Open up for daddy, fucktoy.”

Sans whimpered and shakily parted his teeth.  A rigid cock was immediately pushed into his mouth, and a hand wrapped around the back of his head forcing him to take it so deeply he almost choked.

“See?” the second cop groaned, hips bucking slightly as he let the other cop's rough thrusting push Sans’s head back and forth along his shaft.  "Just. _.fuck_ \- just gotta stay on the tongue."

Sans gagged, saliva and tears running down his face as he fought back the urge to struggle.  Everything _hurt_.  The pace was much too rough and fast, and the intrusion currently slamming into his pussy was painfully large for his small frame.  Worse, underneath the agony was the faintest hint of desperate gratification, and he hated himself for it.  He didn't want any part of this to feel good, didn't want that creeping, needy desire that close to an hour of relentless pounding was stirring up inside him.

He didn't want any of this.

The cop behind him suddenly buried himself deeply with a low grunt.  A few seconds later something wet dribbled down the insides of Sans’ legs, joining the slippery mess of slick and cum already coating the asphalt beneath him.  The cop rutting into his mouth swore again, then followed suit, letting his own release splatter wetly against the inside of Sans’ skull and drip down the front of his cervical vertebrae.  Fighting down the urge to throw up, Sans miserably lowered his head, not daring to even spit or try to clean out his mouth while he was still surrounded.   He knew better by now.

“All right, break-time’s over ladies.  Get moving,” one of the cops called amiably as the others pulled out of him.  Sans shivered and pressed his knees tightly together, burying his face and praying for it to be over.  The handcuffs were unlocked and someone teasingly smacked the back of his ilium.

“Back at it fucktoy.  We’ll be seeing you around.”

Oh, he knew they would be.  And there wasn’t any goddamn thing he could do about it either.  Miserably, Sans waited for them to leave before clumsily dragging his pants and underwear back up around his hips. Shaking so hard he could barely walk, he staggered to his feet, and began to limp back to a place where he could clean himself up.

 

===

Sans wasn’t sure why he chose Grillby’s.  A moderate desire to drink himself to death?  He could have done that at any bar, preferably at one where the bartender wasn’t actually keeping track of his tab.  Grillby was patient, but patience didn’t pay for a month's worth of forgetting all the times he’d been ‘arrested.’

Well, whatever the reason, Sans had chosen Grillby’s.  As a result, he’d spent the last several hours getting drunk, making hilarious puns with the regulars, and then attempting to play pool with alcohol-trashed fine-motor skills.  He had a feeling that he wasn’t playing it right anyway, but nobody seemed to be able to stop laughing long enough to care.

“….Sans?”  Grillby finally said behind him.  Sans spun around, then staggered inelegantly into the pool table with a dazed grin.

“Whoops,” he giggled, blinking owlishly above him.  Grillby was standing nearby, flames dancing with a shimmery, psychedelic flicker.  It was hypnotic and strangely soothing, like looking into a candle-flame burning quietly on a windowsill.  Grillby chuckled a little and held out a hand to steady him.  


“Sans, you are so, incredibly drunk.”

Sans nodded sagely.  How keen of Grillby to notice.  "Not nearly drunk enough, b'lieve me," he groaned, then flopped back onto the pool table.  Grillby drew his hand back in surprise.  


“Are you all right?”

“’M fine.  Doin’ great,” Sans slurred cheerfully, idly loosening his tie.   Goddamn, he was horny as fuck.  Being screwed five or six times in a row without getting to come even _once_ had left him painfully aroused, once he’d finally managed to dismiss his abused pussy and get the scrapes to stop stinging.  Definitely didn't help that Grillby was _hot_ as hell.  Heh.

“Sans, we’re closing for the night.  Can you get yourself home?” Grillby asked.

“Home…” Sans attempted to process this, then quickly gave up.  “Can't get home."

Grillby sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as though asking some higher power for patience.

“What's 'sa matter, hot stuff?  Don’cha wanna take a ride on th' town _bone_ cycle?” he asked teasingly, pulling off one of his suspenders with a meaningful glance.  “'s free.  You can do whatever ya want to me too…’sokay.   Doesn't really matter anyway.”

Grillby went silent at that, then reached forward.  Sans cringed a little despite the alcohol, fully expecting to be stripped and fucked right there on the pool table.

"Huuh?" he reeled when Grillby firmly tucked an arm under his head and knees, then carefully lifted him into the air. “Whooa…where are we goin’?”

“To get you cleaned up.”

Sans mumbled some sort of protest, but Grillby stayed silent as he carried him through the empty bar, up a flight of stairs, and into a small studio over the bar.  He placed Sans into the room’s tiny bathtub, then began unbuttoning his shirt.  Sans blinked, then went limp with a sigh, trying to sink back under his fading buzz.  This wasn’t so bad.  Grillby was going slow, it might even feel nice…

“Oh…” Grillby began when he pulled Sans' shirt open, then continued in a hard, almost angry tone.  “Sans, what happened?”

Sans flinched, suddenly remembering his scraped ribs, knees, and brightly glowing pubis.  Yeah...that probably didn't look good.  Time for his perfect excuse.

“I fell,” he whispered, then giggled to himself as heat began to prickle along the rims of his eyesockets.  “I fell a LOT.  F-five or six times, I think...”

“You are a liar,” Grillby said grimly, then gently stripped his trousers, boxers, shoes, and socks away.  He folded them neatly, then placed a hand over Sans’ sternum.  “Hold still, those scrapes need to be cleaned.”

Sans inhaled sharply as fire rippled outward from Grillby's palm, licking over his ribs, clavicles, and spinous processes with a warm, tingling pressure.  They sought out his scrapes and chipped bones, pulling away the dirt and dried, crusty fluids with feather-light gentleness.  After a moment, they spread outward in a slow circle, leaving the bones they'd touched perfectly clean and glimmering with a light coating of sweet, smoke-scented oil.

The flames reached his pelvis and Grillby hesitated, then pulled his hand away.  The flames immediately went out with a curl of bluish smoke.  The warmth faded and Sans groaned unhappily, looking up at Grillby in placid incomprehension.  The elemental sighed, then tossed a wash cloth into the sink, turned on the water for a moment, and gingerly picked up the dripping cloth with two fingers.

“Here,” he said, pressing the cloth into Sans’ hand, then guiding it down between his legs.  "You...you do that part."

Sans numbly pressed the wet cloth to his pelvic inlet, then hissed in pain, doubling over as the sting cut through his drunk haze and left him suddenly feeling far too sober.

“Oh...oh no.  Shhh, it’s ok,” Grillby said uncertainly when tears welled up in the corners of Sans’ eyes.  “It can wait a little longer…”

Sans began to sob loudly without letting himself know why, bare bones trembling and nausea overtaking the buzz.  He didn’t resist as Grillby lifted him out of the tub and pulled him into his lap, hands gentle and warm around his sore body.

“I-I’m going t-to throw up,” he sobbed, pressing a hand over his mouth.  Grillby quickly set him next to the toilet and Sans scrambled over it, clinging to the bowl like a drowning rat.

“I’m going to call your brother.  You’re spending the night here,” Grillby said firmly, draping a large towel around his shoulders.

Sans couldn’t respond.  He was too busy puking up most of the alcohol he’d drunk that night, and abhorring every aspect of his life.  He did feel Grillby rubbing the back of his head, but its constant, soothing presence only made him cry harder.  He didn’t pull away though.  Something inside him badly needed the assurance and safety that the touch seemed to promise, and it quickly won over his lingering self-hatred.

“It’s going to be ok,” Grillby promised softly.

Sans hiccuped and sobbed into the toilet bowl, desperately wishing he could let himself believe that.

**Author's Note:**

> Left things on a sad note, but with lots of room for things to get better. ^_^ Grillby's not going to let that ridiculous 'I fell' excuse slide.
> 
> Curious about commissions? More info [here.](https://ravvi-k.tumblr.com/post/167932441348/supportcommission)


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